


To Whom You Belong

by ungoodpirate



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent makes a cameo, Gen, McCall Family Feels, Melissa McCall & Scott McCall have lots of mother and son scenes, Pack Feels, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott McCall replaces Adam Milligan, Scott-Centric, Superwolf, lots of other Teen Wolf characters referenced, lots of references to John Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ungoodpirate/pseuds/ungoodpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't until his parents were divorcing that Scott learned that his dad wasn't actually his dad. His dad turns out to be some drifter named John Winchester, but it doesn't get really weird until two hunters show up at Scott's front door claiming their his long lost half-brothers. Cue the identity crisis.</p><p>The superwolf fic you didn't know you needed until now, in which Scott McCall (not Adam) is the third Winchester brother.</p><p>(Actually more introspective and dramatic than the summary sounds like.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Whom You Belong

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this slowly over the course of 2014 out of a need to have a Scott centric Superwolf fic (if you have any recs, leave them in the comments). 
> 
> I mess with the timelines of both shows. This takes place post Teen Wolf 3A, but Scott, Stiles, nor Allison aren't dealing with any affects of the fake dying or whatever. In Supernatural, this is taking place in the apocalypse story line of season 5. Those seasons take place in completely different years but I don't care! and neither should you!

It wasn't until his parents were divorcing that Scott learned that his dad wasn't actually his dad. Melissa had given birth to Scott two years before she had ever met Raf. Scott had always ascribed the lack of Raf in his earliest memories and baby pictures to the same reason Raf was lacking in the rest of his memories and pictures: because Raf was an workaholic who preferred spending his free time at the bar than at home.

That night Melissa curled around her son in his bed even though Raf had left after the revelation, which had been delivered during a so-uncommon-it-was-routine screaming match between the couple. Even though he would still return a few times to collect his things, Scott and Melissa would look back on that evening as the night Raf left. Melissa spent the night explaining this hidden truth to her son. "We thought it would be easier," she said. "He said he wanted a family." Scott was eight years old.  

Through the next agonizing months of legal separation and then divorce paperwork and decisions, Scott might have entertained the thought that Raf not being his biological father would make it easier to hate him. Instead, it was just confusing. Raf  _chose_  them, and yet he left. Long before the divorce, when he was still living in their house and pretending they were a picturesque family, he left them emotionally.

Scott worked up the nerve to ask about his actual father two weeks after his eleventh birthday. He had just received a late birthday card from Raf with a sizable check in it. Though the man owed nothing to him, he still liked to playact at dad, though thankfully from over a hundred miles away.

Melissa paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Your father?” she repeated.

“Not Raf,” Scott said. He stirred his tomato soup, making the goldfish crackers floating on the surface swim into each other.

He heard a clack – Melissa putting her spoon back into the bowl. “What do you want to know?” she asked.

“… who he is.”

Melissa pursed her lips. “His name was John.”

 _John_. Scott thought this over like it would reveal something.

“Did he not want me?”

“Oh, honey, no, it’s not like that.” She reached across the length of the table to place her hand on his. “He doesn’t know. He was just… passing through town. By the time I knew I was pregnant he was gone.” She sat back. “That was back in the stone age before we all had cell phones. Some of us had these things called _pagers_ though.”

Scott nodded. It didn’t sound like there’s a way to get in contact with the man then.

“Where did you meet?” Scott asked next.

“At the hospital,” Melissa said. “He was a patient. Needed stitches.” She looked upward like she was seeing a distant vision. “He was handsome in a rugged sort of way. He had a nice voice.”

“Gross,” Scott said, wrinkling his noise.

Melissa laughed. “Hey, you asked!”

“Yeah, but I don’t need to hear that.”

Melissa leaned back in her chair. “I guess I liked him for a lot of the same reasons I liked Raf…” Her smiled waned. “But neither stuck around for long, huh?”

Scott got up from his seat, rounded the table, and hugged his mom. He pressed his head to her shoulder. He needed her to know that he might not have a dad, but he sure as hell got the best mom in the whole world.

…

At age sixteen Scott was bitten by a werewolf and turned into a werewolf himself. But that’s a story you already know.

…

Two looming men stood in the doorway. They carried with them the scent of gunmetal, and Scott curled his hands into fists to hide his spiking claws. He had much better control than this, usually, but a threat invading his home, where his mother lived, made him ache to snarl to mark his territory.

"Mom," Scott called. He wanted her to step back, get behind him. He was sure these men had come for him. Call it instinct, but Scott was processing facts too fast for him to note them.  Under the sweat, the leather, the gunpowder, there were hints of other smells: salt, sulfur, monkswood, blood. Scott would never mistake these two men's scent for Mr. Argent's, but there were enough similarities for Scott's mind to make the logical leap. Hunters.

"Can I help you?" Mom said in a way that didn't sound helpful at all.

“We're looking for Scott McCall," said the shorter – though definitely not short – of the two men. His eyes moved from Melissa to the gap over her shoulder, right at Scott in the hallway.

Scott heard his Mom's heart rate pick up. "For what?" she demanded.

"It's complicated," the short one said, voice rough.

"Can we come in and talk?" the gigantically tall one said with unexpected softness.

Melissa put her arm up, hand flat to the door post, blocking their entry. "Do I look stupid?"

Scott stepped closer. "Mom," he said again, begging her to let him handle this.

The tall one put his hands up conceding, like he was showing that he wasn't carrying the weapons Scott knew he was. "Please. We mean no harm. I'm Sam. This is my brother Dean. We think you knew our father. John Winchester."

Melissa's hand dropped from the frame. "Shit," she said, but it wasn't scared. "I thought you were..." _Hunters_ , Scott filled in the gap. He guessed he and his mom had been on the same page. But now...? "This is _completely_ something else," Melissa said in a tone usually reserved for Raf-related frustrations.

Now Scott was just confused. "Mom?"

Melissa turned to him. "Scott..." She sighed. "These, apparently, are your brothers."

 ...

John Winchester was dark-haired and dark-eyed like him, but otherwise Scott saw no likeness between them. However, Melissa had said, “That’s him” before passing Scott the battered photograph. Scott was inclined to believe her. Much younger versions of Sam and Dean were in the photo as well. The three unfamiliar people sitting together on the hood of a black car looked like a family, just not Scott’s.

“He passed away about three years ago,” Sam had said before they had gotten to passing around pictures part. Even then, Scott wasn’t sure what to feel, and usually he was built on dire earnestness. This man, John Winchester, had given him life but nothing else. Raf, although not Scott’s biologically, had given a lazy, screwed up attempt at fatherhood.

The three of them, the three brothers – Brothers? That was so odd for Scott to think – sat around the kitchen table. Melissa sat for maybe a second, but now she stood, shifting her weight every half a minute or so. After a moment of awkward quite she dropped the 64,000 dollar question. “Why did you come to find us?” She said _us_ instead of _him, Scott._

“Our mother died when we were little,” said Sam. He did most of the talking. “Since then… Family’s always been important to us.”

Isaac burst through the backdoor, the one that led from the outside right into the kitchen, skidding to a stop on the tile. He must’ve sensed the same things as Scott. Hunters. Isaac’s eyes flickered to Scott’s and Scott shook his head in a tiny no.

Isaac stood up straight, out of his ‘ready to pounce’ stance. “Um, hi,” he said, just as awkward as he was acting.

Melissa had her hand pressed over her heart, jolted from Isaac’s sudden entrance. Her smile was strained. “Hi, Isaac… We’re dealing with a family thing right now, so if you don’t mind waiting in your room…?”

Isaac dropped his gaze back to Scott – Scott nodded just a centimeter – before answering. “Yeah, sure.” Melissa probably wasn’t thinking that Isaac could overhear their conversation from his room if he tried, but she wasn’t used to integrating these factors into her life yet.

Dean’s arm was crossed his body, tense, like he was gripping something at his waistband, hidden by the table. A weapon, Scott deduced. A gun probably. When Isaac tromped upstairs and away, Dean loosened up. Scott followed the drop of Dean’s arm with his eyes. He looked to find Dean noticing him noticing.

Dean raised his eyebrows and cocked his head in the direction Isaac had gone. “Who’s that?”

“Isaac,” Scott said. Melissa fiddled with the charm on her necklace.

“Yeah, I got that.”

“He lives here,” Scott said shortly. These may be his long lost half-brothers, but Isaac was _pack_. Never had the definition been so stark to Scott before.

Melissa spoke up, with a tone that defied that anymore questions be asked on the matter: “He has nowhere else to go.”

Scott looked the photo once more, hard, but it didn’t have answers. Just more questions. “How did you find us?” he asked the two brothers. His brothers. Still weird.

“Our father,” Sam said. “He… he left behind a journal when he died.” Sam’s heartbeat increased just slightly. It was the truth enough, but he was omitting something. But that’s not so pressing when Mom’s heartbeat, already up through this whole encounter – her nervous energy continually distracting Scott – spiked up.

Scott looked to her. “But, Mom,… you said he didn’t know about me.”

Melissa closed her eyes and took a breath through her nose. “I lied,” she said. Her eyes opened and Scott didn’t look away even as a shock-numbness, like being thrown into ice water, overcame him.

“I’m sorry, Scott, it’s just… after Raf, I didn’t want you to think you had two fathers that abandoned you.” Melissa looked over at Dean and Sam who were watching the scene before them, rather uncomfortable. “I think it’s best if you guys came back another time.”

Sam wrote down his phone number for Scott, and then Melissa saw the two men out. Dean paused in the front doorway. He ran his thumb over a spot on the frame, eyes focus-narrow. Melissa cleared her throat and gave a pointed look. Dean nodded, tight-mouthed, and continued out.

Melissa waited until Sam and Dean got into a big, sleek black car parked along the curb and started to drive away before closing the door. Before coming back to the kitchen.

She sat in the chair next to Scott, tried to take his hands in hers but he was too stiff to move.

“Scott…” Melissa said, her voice pleading.

Scott shifted in his seat, starting to feel anger as the numbness faded. “Can you tell me the truth?” he said, not too politely.

Melissa gritted her jaw. “Part of it was true. John didn’t know about you at first and I had no way to tell him. About six months after you were born, John came to see me. He was just passing through again, or that’s what he said. He met you. He held you. He actually seemed to know what he was doing with a baby which probably should’ve tipped me off that he had another family.”

Melissa folded her hands on the tabletop, far too neat.

“And?” Scott prompted.

“He told me that he traveled for work, and that it was unpredictable, but he’d visit when he could.”

“And you told him no,” Scott guessed. There could only be one reason for John’s absence.

“I told him,” Melissa said, leveling her chin, “That he could stay and be your father, or he couldn’t be your father at all. He chose the latter.”

Scott took a breath, breathing this in. He stood, chair screeching back.  “I need to think about all this,” he said.

Melissa nodded. “I love you,” she told him.

Scott stared at the floor. “I love you too,” he said back, because that wasn’t in question. He went up to his room, and plopped down onto his bed, mashing his face into the pillow.

Isaac came quietly into his room a few minutes later, but not unheard.

“Um,” Isaac said first, then, “Those guys were hunters.”

“I know,” Scott replied.

“But you’re also related to them?” Isaac said, confused from the pieces he had picked up.

Scott nodded on his pillow. “Long lost half-brothers.”

“That’s… awkward.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Isaac left, hearing the command of _want-to-be-alone_ in the tone of his friend and alpha.

Twenty minutes later Stiles arrived, banging loudly into Scott’s room without knocking. He sat down on the back of Scott’s legs.

“Hey, buddy.”

Scott umphed, then asked, “Did Isaac call you?”

“Smartest thing he’s ever done,” Stiles answered. There’s a bang on the wall separating Isaac’s and Scott’s rooms. “Stop eavesdropping!” Stiles yelled at it.

Stiles rubbed at Scott’s shoulders. “So, how you doing?”

“I’m having an existential crisis,” Scott muttered.

“Tell me about it,” Stiles said and his therapist-like tone would have been amusing if Scott weren’t so miserable.

“My mom’s been lying to me my entire life, I’m no longer an only child, and new brothers are hunters,” Scott said all grouchy.

Stiles made a sympathetic hissing noise. Isaac must have filled Stiles in on the details too, because none of this shocked Stiles. “Yeah, buddy, that sucks. But at least you know who you are, so it’s not too existential of a crisis.”

Scott turned over, which dislodged Stiles from the bed and onto the floor.

Scott sat up. “How long do you think it’s going to take for my hunter brothers to figure out I’m a werewolf?”

Stiles stood and brushed himself off. “If we do this right, never. We get in, we do the emotional reunion, and we get out.”

“We?”

“I’m your best friend, Scott. You know I got your back.”

…

“So, that was our little brother. How do you feel about being the middle child, Sammy? You’ve always acted like the middle child.”

Sam snorted. “Shut up… but seriously, that was some awkward family drama.”

“And I thought our family was fucked up,” Dean said. He smirked briefly then it dropped because this was his family. He took a wide left turn toward their motel. “Now that we found him, we just got to get Cas here to mark up his ribs with sigils before anyone else finds him too.” Castiel had been with them, at the start of this mission, but partway to California they had been accosted by a fresh pack of angels doing Zachariah’s bidding. Castiel disappeared – literately – to fend them off. He told the Winchester brothers to go on without him.

“He’s okay,” Sam said though he has no way of knowing this.

“He better be,” Dean said grimly.

They drove on, back to their motel. Now all they had to do was wait.

…

Melissa knocked on Scott’s door, the first person to do so all day.

He got up and opened it for her.

“I made dinner,” she said, her fingers held nervously in front of her.

“I can eat,” Scott replied.

Isaac came and left the dinner table, taking food up to his room so he could work on a school project, or so he said. Scott’s pretty sure he just wanted to avoid the tension.

Scott stirred the bowl of chili that his mom made, then said, “Mom.”

“Yes?” Melissa replied, fast.

“I’ve been thinking about it all day. It would’ve sucked, no matter how I found out about it… I also get your reasoning behind keeping it from me.  And it’s not like I haven’t kept secrets. It’s just, Raf left, John left, you’re here.  I guess I’m saying… it still stings, the lying and all, but… I forgive you.”

Melissa smiled lightly at him, looking less tired than she had.

…

They decided, or Stiles decided, that they should meet up with his half-brothers over lunch the next day. “We need to feel them out. Make sure they’re here on just family business and not hunting business. Plus, what’s better than hiding in plain sight?”

“Because that worked so well with the Argents?”

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

When Scott tried to protest this, Stiles argues his position as the ‘plan guy’ and the ‘brains of this operation’. Scott gave in easy; he had questions anyway. 

They meet at a dinner that’s public and frequented by the sheriff’s department deputies. These are Stiles’ strategic decisions. Stiles and Scott arrive early but Sam and Dean are already there.

“Who’re you?” Dean said at Stiles’ presence.

“I’m Scott’s best friend,” Stiles said, a bit proudly, which was nice.

“What about the kid that lives with him?” Dean replied.

A sour expression formed on Stiles’ face. “He’s _not_ Scott’s best friend… Scott, who’s your best friend?” Stiles asked.

“You?” Scott replied, confused.

Stiles pointed at Scott as exhibit A. “See.”

“Let’s sit,” Scott said to Stiles, nudging him towards the bench seat of the booth.

They settled and a waitress brought them all waters a second later.

“How’re you and your mom, Scott?” Sam asked after few moments of all them reading menus instead of making eye contact.

“We’re good,” Scott said. He shrugged. “How mad can I stay at someone who’s done everything for me my whole life?”

“That’s very mature of you,” Sam commented, not really sure what else to say.

The waitress came back. They ordered. Stiles faked a large stretch like trying to look casual, and with no segue, asked, “So, how do you like Beacon Hills?”

“It’s nice,” Dean answered without much emotion in his tone.

Stiles nodded with an exaggerated, contemplative frown. “Nice. Pleasant. Ordinary. Completely normal. Absolutely mundane, actually.”

Scott watched this show just as befuddled as Sam and Dean. Stiles was being the opposite of not suspicious.

Scott decided to interrupt. “What was he like…?” He was not sure how to refer to the man. “John.”

“You can call him _dad_ if you want to,” Sam offered. Dean coughed.

“I already have someone I call dad in my head. It’s weird to switch it now,” Scott said.

“What’s he like?” Sam asks gently.

Scott snorted. “An asshole. And, not around anymore.”

“It’s true,” Stiles said in agreement.

“That’s sucks,” Sam said.

“I’m actually glad he’s not my real dad,” Scott said, and it was relief to admit this aloud.

“Well, John wasn’t exactly father of the year either.”

“Sam,” Dean chastised, maybe against speaking ill of the dead.

“Oh, come on, Dean, you’ve said it yourself,” Sam said sharply back. Bad fathers were, apparently, a family sore spot.  

“He has daddy issues,” Dean said, jabbing a pointer finger into Sam’s bicep.

Sam scoffed. “You have… daddy issues.”

Scott laughed, which interrupted the Winchester’s snit. “Sorry,” he said, hiding his smile behind a fist. “You’re just not what I expected.”

“What you’d expect?” Dean asked.

“I’m not sure. You’re just really… brothers.”

When the food comes, Sam asks about Scott’s life in Beacon Hills. Scott tells him about lacrosse, the hilarity of Coach Finstock (even getting Dean to laugh a few times), and his work at the animal clinic with Stiles adding quips and insights along the way. Talking with Sam becomes easy, and halfway through his fries Scott almost forgot there was anything more than absent years between them.

…

They piled into the Jeep. Stiles turned his key in the ignition but sat in the spot in the dinner parking lot for a moment.

“What’s up?” Scott asked.

“You were awfully chatty,” Stiles said.

Scott’s eyebrows wrinkled downward. “I thought we were supposed to be hiding in plain sight?”

“There’s hiding and then there’s bonding.”

Scott’s clicked the door lock open and closed with his thumb.

“You like them,” Stiles said. It was a statement, but so accusatory.

Scott shrugged, tried to come up with an excuse, but just said, “Uh… Yes.”

Stiles made a face but before he could get to chastising Scott, Scott interrupted with his defense. “I can’t help it. I’ve never a lot of family, and suddenly I know the identity of my mystery dad and all these other connections. You can’t blame me for being curious.”

“I don’t blame you, Scott,” Stiles said. “But I’m worried for _your_ _life...”_ Stiles gripped the wheel tight even though were still stationary. “I’m your brother too.”

Scott blinked. “Of course you are,” he said to Stiles. “No matter how many long lost siblings I find, that will always be true.”

Stiles nodded, and then perhaps not to be trapped being too emotional, started adjusting the rearview mirror. In its reflection a large, black car drove by.

Stiles jerked his chin over his shoulder. “That’s their car, right?”

“I think so,” Scott answered, more tentative of what was going on in Stiles mind than over his accuracy of his response.

“Let’s follow them,” Stiles said. Scott started to protest, but it was no use with Stiles swinging the jeep out of its parking space and speeding to catch the Winchester car’s head start.

They followed the Chevy to a cheap motel outside of the town center. Stiles’ pulled over to the side of the road but not into the motel parking lot. The Winchesters got out of the parked car and went into one of the rooms. Scott could read the number on the door at a distance: eleven. He snorted at the coincidence.

“Well, now we know,” Stiles said, returning the Jeep to the road and back towards their neighborhood. “In case we ever need it.”

…

Dean had been quiet for the most of the lunch, and otherwise monosyllabic when addressed. Sam got on Dean’s case about this back at the motel.

“You don’t have to be such a jerk… It’s not Scott’s fault that Dad had a second family.”

“This isn’t about Dad, Christ.” Dean cracks open a beer, a drink they didn’t have at the diner. “It’s just something about this that feels off.”

“Cas?”

“Other than Cas.”

Dean picked up a motel-provided pad of paper and sketched something onto it. He held the pad out to Sam. “What’s this look like to you?”

Sam took and examined the rough pen scribble. “I don’t know. A rune of some sort.”

“I saw scratched into the door frame at the McCall house.”

“Could be nothing?”

“When is it ever nothing?” Dean said. “I think it’s that Isaac kid. He lives in their house. That’s weird.”

“Okay, Sherlock, why don’t you actually figure out what it is before jumping to conclusions.”

“Maybe I will,” Dean said haughtily. He went over to his duffle and pulled out Dad’s journal. He started flipping through the pages.

 Sam rolled his eyes. His brother sometimes. Sam booted up his laptop.

…

 “I can’t find anything,” Dean said, slamming the journal shut. “Give me the computer.” He reached across the table, but Sam slide it away faster.

“What? Are you looking at porn? It’s nothing I haven’t seen, Sammy.”

Dean lunged for the computer again and latched his fingers at the joint.

“You’re gonna break it!” Sam chastised.

“Then let go,” Dean retorted, and Sam, not needing another demolished laptop, relented.

Dean turned the screen to face himself. An eyebrow poked up. “You were stalking Scott’s facebook?”

“I just wanted to learn about the kid.”

“Like you didn’t do enough today?”

“You were doing you’re research. I was doing mine.”

“Did you look up his weird friends while you were at it?”

Sam made a consternated face and didn’t answer.

“That’s my boy,” Dean replied smugly. He then shut down Sam’s pages and opened his own.

Sam left and came back with food and Dean had found the symbol, showing it off on the computer screen. Sam leaned over to read, “Arwen, or three rays. The first and third ray represent male and female energy respectively. The center ray is the balance between these two… It’s pretty innocuous, Dean.”

“It’s Celtic!”

“So?”

“You know what that means – druids.” Dean was a bit too excited over the prospect.

“I think you’re stretching.” Sam plopped a greasy bag of burgers and fries in front of Dean. Dean dug in but wasn’t distracted from his purpose.

Through a mouthful, Dean said, “Thought we were trying to protect this kid.”

This makes Sam grumble and huff, but he had to agree. It was a flimsy lead at best, and they’re not even on a case. Really, they’re just stalling for time. If things had gone as planned, if Cas had been with them with them when they arrived and marked Scott’s ribs with anti-angel sigils, they would have been here and gone by now.

But Cas wasn’t here, and every moment he wasn’t was another opening for an angel to sweep in and use Scott as a vessel – just because he had some Winchester blood in his veins. Sam rubbed a hand over his face. Better safe than sorry then.

“What’d you think we should do, Dean?” Sam asked.

Dean grinned in victory.

…

“I don’t know about this, Dean,” Sam said, glancing around the neighborhood as Dean picked the lock on the front door of the McCall house.

“Too late now,” Dean replied as the lock came undone and the door swung in. “See, right here.” He pointed out the carving on the door frame.

Sam cocked his head, grimaced, and said, “That’s not an accident.”

“Told you.”

They move into the house, closing the door behind them.

“I’ll be right back,” Dean said, before bounding up the stairs.

Sam rolled his eyes.  If someone put a sigil on the front door, they would probably put it on the other entrances as well.

He unlocked the kitchen’s backdoor from the inside, opened it enough to reveal the full doorframe, and ran his fingers over the paint. He stopped when they brushed over another scratching at the same height as the last. This one was a double spiral – a shape that looked like a curly sideways ‘S’.

He closed the door, went to a window over the sink next. Another Celtic symbol graced the window frame there.

Dean’s loud footsteps indicated him tromping down the stairs. “I couldn’t get anything in that Isaac kid’s room,” he said when he found Sam in the kitchen. He pushed the antennae on the electromagnetic meter down with his chin.

“I found more symbols,” Sam said. Dean came over to inspect the one on the windowsill. “I looked at the rest of the Celtic symbols on your website, the ones like these. They’re all about balance and nature, Dean. There’s nothing inherently bad about them. If anything, they’re probably protective.”

“Protection from what?” Dean said. “Because those won’t hold back a demon. And more importantly, who put them there?”

Before either of them can run through theories, they heard the lock on the front door clunk open. Dean pressed a finger to his lips although it really wasn’t necessary after all these years of working together. They’re practically a machine by now. Dean had tried parting ways with Sam once, back after he cracked Lucifer out of hell, but it didn’t stick. It never stuck.

They both pressed against the wall. Dean inched forward to pear around the corner. He pulled back just fast enough not to get his nose broken by a baseball bat. It smashed into the corner of the plaster instead.

“What’re you doing?” Melissa McCall screeched when she got sight of them. She as he pulled the bat back over her shoulder. She wasn’t swinging but she was ready.

“You almost bashed my face in with a bat!” Dean retorted, offended mixed with shocked. He has handled all manner of creepy-crawlies, and yet a middle-aged mom wielding sports equipment had him rattled.

“You broke into my house!” Melissa said.

Dean’s mouth hung open for a second. “Good point.”

“We’ll go,” Sam said, trying to be placating.

“Oh, you bet your ass you’ll go,” Melissa said with a fire in her eyes. She stepped back and pointed the bat in direction of the front door. “And I don’t care who you are, but you’re not welcome back here or to have anymore contact with Scott.” She had maneuvered herself closer to the phone and she pulled it off the stand with her free hand. “I’m good friends with the Sherriff,” she added, “And don’t think I won’t use nepotism.”

“We’re going,” Sam said, nudging Dean down the hall, towards the door. Melissa stayed a few paces back but didn’t let them get out of sight. As soon as they were out on the lawn, the front door was slammed behind them.

The brothers stood on the sidewalk for a bit, stunned that they had met their match.

Before they retreated to their motel and car, Dean said, “Well, shit.”

…

“What’s going on, Scott?” Stiles asked as Scott seethed in the hallway. “You look like you’re about to wolf-out.”

“Sam and Dean broke into my house.”

“What?”

“My mom walked in on them in the kitchen and almost knocked Dean’s head off with the bat.”

“Been there,” Stiles said with a nod. 

“She told me I shouldn’t hang out with them anymore,” Scott said as he kept flexing his hands in and out of fists. Maybe it’s the only thing stopping his from shifting right here.

“I agree with her,” Stiles said too exuberantly. “I told you, you were getting too close to them. I told you and you didn’t listen. I thought we’ve been through this before.”

“Stiles...,” Scott said through gritted teeth though it was clear his contained frustration wasn’t directed towards his friend. “They broke in my house.”

“You said tha… Oh.”

“They know something,” Scott said, pained.

“Or…,” Stiles said, gripping tight at the straps of his backpack as he grimaced. “And I know you don’t want to hear this. But maybe… Maybe they’re not actually your brothers.”

…

When they arrive at the motel, the Winchester’s car is absent from the parking lot.

“They broke into mine. We break into theirs,” Scott said, which might be motivated by not-really-thought-out revenge rather than logic.

“Okay,” Stiles agreed. “But why did we have to bring him.” He thrusted his thumb at the backseat where Isaac sat.

“Backup,” Scott said.

“He means he needs someone else here who can fight,” Isaac said with a sneer.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Stiles replied.

The go to room number 11 and Stiles unlocked the door using a skeleton key.

“Why do you even have that?” Scott asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Stiles said as he pushed open the door. He flew a hand out to stop the other two from advancing. He crouched open and touched a white powder that lined the doorway. “Salt.”

“Salt?” Isaac asked.

Stiles stood. “Yeah. Salt. You know how you two can’t cross mountain ash. Other things can’t cross salt. It clear who’s here as the muscle and who’s here as the brains.”

“Can werewolves cross salt?” Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged lop-sided and made an ‘I don’t know’ sound that wasn’t quite words.

Scott took a heavy breathe then attempted to step over the line of salt, and then successfully stepped over the line of salt. He looked back at the other two still outside the room. “Yes, then.”

“So, what’re we looking for?” Isaac asked once they were all inside.

“The truth,” Scott answered dramatically as Stiles threw over the pillows and blankets on the dual beds.

“We know they’re hunters. What other truth do we need?” Isaac said and figured it out a second later. “Sorry,” he said to Scott, cuffing him on the shoulder in his version of affection.

“Hey, look that this,” Stiles said, holding up a beaten copy of a leather-bound book. “Maybe it’s their bestiary,” he said and sat down at on the edge of the bed and started flipping through it. “It doesn’t seem to have a logical order to it.” He stops on the page that has a drawing of a vicious-looking black dog that is labeled as a hell hound. “Definitely a bestiary.”

“What’s this?” Scott said, plucking something sticking out from the pages. A photograph with four people: one that looks like the John from the other photo he saw this week, a blonde women, a baby, and a toddler. He flips it over and it’s labeled with all of their names: John, Mary, Sam, and Dean.

“There’s a few more,” Stiles said softly as Scott unglued his eyes from the handwriting to see a Stiles had found a few more old photographs in a pocket inside the front cover. One of them is the photo Scott was shown in his kitchen. There was another with just the blonde woman smiling over her shoulder and another with the older boy, just a toddler, holding a baby on his lap.

“What do you think?” Stiles asked.

Scott looked back to the photo he still held. “My mom said this was my dad and I have to believe that.”

“So the two either are your brothers or they stole their identities,” Stiles proposed as the two options

Scott handed the photo back to Stiles and sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. He pushed the heel of his hands into his eyes because that was preferable to looking at the smiling family: his and not his, alive and dead, friend and foe.

“I don’t know what to think.”

Isaac had taken the roll of muscle literally, and was leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed like a body guard and just as silent. He twitched his head to the side. “Someone’s coming,” he said. And two seconds later, “It’s them.”

Scott concentrated his hearing and listened in on Dean talking four yards outside the door. Stiles was already scrambling, jamming the book back where he found it.

“We got to go.”

“They’ll see us if we go through the door,” Isaac said, his shoulders stiff.

“Window?” Stiles proposed.

“Too late,” Scott said, because the brother’s footsteps have stopped outside the door, and even Stiles could hear them talking now.

“What’s the plan?” Isaac said, as he backed up to flank Scott.

Stiles answered, addressing Scott, “Play the brother.”

Scott nodded, and didn’t tell Stiles there was no need for him to play something he was.

The Winchester brothers snap into defensive postures – Dean’s hand flying to his belt –  in the open doorway when they spot Scott and company inside their room. After a beat, Sam steps forward.

“Scott,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”

Scott’s eyes flew over to Stiles, who nodded.

“You broke into my house!” Scott didn’t quite see it, but he imagined Stiles approving of this tactic: accuse instead of defend.

“And you came here to talk about it?” Dean said, shutting the door with his foot and leaning against it, blocking their exit. Isaac tensed beside Scott.

“You broke into my house,” Scott repeated. Stiles cleared his throat in the quietest way possible, so the other two couldn’t hear but Scott could. “You scared my Mom,” Scott went on, working into a power rage that really wasn’t an act. “Are you even actually my brothers, or are you just some con artists?”

 “We are your brothers,” Sam insisted.

Dean crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. “Why do you have Celtic symbols carved into your doorways?”

Scott was not a good liar when put on the spot. He fumbled over words and generally got people to believe him because he was nice and because many people underestimated him. Stiles was a good liar. That’s why when Scott brain stalled here, Stiles piped up.

“Oh, those! We did those when we were thirteen because we thought they looked cool,” Stiles said, nudging Scott’s shoulder with a loose fist in a showy way. “Melissa was so pissed off when she saw them. I say they give the house character.”

“Character?” Dean repeated back.

“Personality,” Stiles answered.

“I know what character means,” Dean said.

“You said it with a questioning intonation,” Stiles bantered back. Dean’s face contorts, Stiles annoying him, which was Stiles number one talent.

Dean turned his attention to Isaac, “What about you? What’re you here for?”

Flat-toned, Isaac replied, “Moral support.”

“You broke into his house,” Stiles cut in. “Do you think we’d let Scott here confront you alone?” This sufficiently turned the conversation into a circle. Everyone was silent for a moment.

“Scott,” Sam said, eyes and voice equally soft. He takes a step forward and even ducks a little as if make himself smaller and less of a threat. “You’re our brother. And I know things don’t make sense right now, and I know your mom doesn’t want us around you anymore, and I get that. It’s just… we just need to see you one more time, after this, and we can leave you alone forever after that, if you want.”

Scott gritted his jaw, but nodded. This wasn’t what he wanted at all. “Can I ask you something before we leave?” He looked at Dean when he said _leave_ and, like it was a burden, Dean removed himself from the door.

“Anything,” Sam replied. Dean rolled his eyes.

Scott synced his hearing into Sam’s heartbeat. “Why did you break into my house?”

“We just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

Scott almost recoiled because Sam was telling the truth, if his steady heart was to be the judge. For if this was the truth, then Scott had some brothers who cared about him, but whom Scott could never truly get close to.

…

“They’re weren’t lying,” Isaac said on the ride back to Scott’s.

“I know,” Scott replied as he blinked, eyes unfocused.

“What weren’t they lying about?” Stiles said. “You guys need to share this information. I can’t hear heartbeats.”

“About everything,” Isaac replied shortly.

“About being my brothers and about wanting me safe,” Scott said, voice sticky like syrup.

Stiles reached over and patted his buddy on the arm as he drove on.

“Why is this so important to you?” Isaac asked. “So what if they’re related to you. You didn’t meet them until this week. “

“You’re kidding, right?” Stiles said to Isaac when Scott leaned his forehead against the window instead of answering.

“Family’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Isaac muttered as he sank down in the backseat.

“It’s not meant as a discredit to my mom, or you guys, or pack… It’s just, Raf was such a fuck up –” Stiles made a squawking nose from the back of his throat – a stuttered amusement at hearing Scott drop the f-bomb probably – and Scott continued regardless of it. “I’ve always had big questions about that side of my life.”

“Your paternal side.” Stiles was always there to provide the terminology.

Scott shrugged against the window. It was something Scott had buried and forgotten – the want for knowledge of his biological father – until Sam and Dean arrived, hooking it and dragging it back to Scott’s surface. Raf didn’t stay. John didn’t stay. But Sam and Dean came and found _Scott_ , because they were interested in family and in keeping Scott safe and they weren’t lying about that. Sure, they were hunters, and sure, they broke his trust by breaking into his home, and sure, Dean didn’t even seem that interested in him. But it was more than Scott ever had to satisfy this itch before.

“They don’t know anything,” Stiles said, on a completely different subject. From Scott’s perspective they knew all the things he wanted to know. “That’s the important thing. Your hunter brothers don’t know anything.”

…

Cas arrived that night. He had a tear down the left sleeve of his trench coat and dried blood by the corner of his mouth that had gone crusty.

“This is a strange town,” Cas commented after a slew of questions from the brothers on his well-being and whether Cas had lost his tail. “A lot of ancient power.”

“What’s that mean?” Dean asked as he popped open a beer.

Cas turned to him. “Nothing to do with the apocalypse… It’s pagan. If my senses are right,” Cas said, eyes squinted, the implications sadder than his tone showed. His powers were weakening everyday as a fallen angel. It was important then, for them to get Cas to mark Scott’s ribs with anti-angel sigils before Cas lost the ability to do even that. They didn’t need Lucifer or Michael using Scott as a replacement vessel in lieu of Sam and Dean’s refusals.  

Cas titled his head as if listening to something neither of the Winchester brothers could hear. He probably was. “Celtic sacred ground, I think.”

“Celtic?” Dean curled up an eyebrow. Sam and he shared a look. “What would it mean if someone had Celtic symbols carved into their house near active Celtic sacred ground?”

“In the right combinations,” Cas said, “Protection.”

“What if most of the symbols mean balance?” Sam asked.

Cas blinked. “Not letting evil overpower good _is_ balance.”

…

Scott slipped down the stairs at 2:00 am for a glass of water. He wasn’t thirsty, but he couldn’t sleep, and getting a drink will fill a few minutes of this sleepless night.

“Hi, Scott.”

The glass slipped from Scott’s fingers but he caught it after it only dropped a few inches. Half of the water splashed out.

“Mom!” he gasped. She was sitting on the couch, legs tucked on the cushion, with a mug – green tea his nose picked up – held carefully. She smiled.

“I thought you were supposed to have superhuman senses.”

“I was distracted,” Scott said. He rubbed his bare foot against the puddle now staining the throw rug. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“Same,” Melissa said, raising her mug towards him like a toast. She patted the spot beside her.

Scott sat next to her, setting his glass on the coffee table, unwanted. “Are you okay?” he asked her before she could ask him. She was the one, after all, who had the real scare today.

“After being assaulted by a lizard-monster, fighting off a werewolf with an AED, and being kidnapped by a daruch, today was surprisingly normal,” Melissa said in one of her sarcastic tones. Melissa drained the dredges of her tea. “Our lives are weird,” she said, putting down the mug next to Scott’s glass.

“Mom,” Scott said, looking at his hands folded on his knees. “I went to see Sam and Dean today, after you told me what happened.”

“That’s the exact opposite of what I told you to do.”

“I know,” Scott said. “I was safe. I took Stiles and Isaac.”

“That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence, Scott,” she said. Something tightened around her eyes. “I suppose they don’t seem like a big threat to you, either, will all the… lizard-monsters and daruchs.”

Scott blinked. “They really are my brothers,” he said. “And I don’t think they know about me, but Dean might be suspicious. He saw Deaton’s symbols.”

“I’m not trying to keep you from them. I’m not, but… I’m worried. I’m your mother, I’m allowed to worry even if I know you’ve faced worse. It’s just, what if they do find out –”

Scott put his hand over his mom’s and she cut off.

“I’m not broken,” he said.

“What?”

“I know what people say about us. That we’re a broken family. But I don’t feel broken.” He shrugged. “And I know people say boys need a strong, male role model. I’ve heard them say it to your face. They’ve said it to mine. And, well, what they never get is I got the strongest role model.” He squeezed her hand in his, and he thought he might be pushing his unflappable mother to tears.

“I want to know my brothers,” Scott said, “Even though it’s probably a stupid idea to let them close, but it’s not because I’m lacking anything.”

Scott leaned his head onto Melissa’s shoulder like he was still a child. Mom petted his hair until he was nearly asleep.

“You’re too big for me to carry you to bed,” she whispered to him. Scott managed to move his leaden feet.

“You’re going to bed too, right?” he asked, looking back from the bottom of the staircase.

“In a few,” Melissa replied. Scott felt like he fell asleep before he hit the pillow.

…

Dean parked the impala across the street from the McCall home, the dark of night and a dead streetlamp hiding the car.

“So, Cas, you getting anything?” Dean asked, twisting around to address the angel in the backseat.

Cas squinted through the window. “Yes.”

The Winchesters waited for more, then recalled who they’re dealing with.

“What do you get?” Dean asked.

“Celtic energy,” Cas said. “Not as strong as elsewhere in this town, but probably stronger than it would be if this was a house guarded with Celtic sigils not near sacred ground.”

“What’s the point of this?” Sam asked, but was ignored as a blue jeep swerved up the road, stopping opposite them. Dean and Sam ducked down in their seats. Dean hissed at Cas to do the same; he slunk down hesitantly.

Scott and his friend get out of the vehicle.

“Let’s get him now,” Dean says, hand going to the door latch.

Sam grabs his sleeve. “And what? Assault him in the middle of the street with a witness”

Scott and his friend made it inside. Dean banged on the wheel and swore.

“We’ll call him tomorrow,” Sam assured Dean, and before an argument could break out, Cas interrupted with a revelation:

“Heaven can’t use him.”

“What?” Dean said.

“Your half-brother. He can’t be Michael’s vessel.”

“Why, Cas?” Sam said.

Cas tilted his head. “Because he’s a werewolf.”

…

“You sure?” Sam asked. “Absolutely sure.”

“For exactly the fourteenth time,” Cas said, sitting on the end of Dean’s motel bed. “Yes.”

 “Looks like our mission here just changed,” Dean said as he deliberately cleaned his gun at the table.

“No, Dean,” Sam said. “He’s our brother.”

“He’s a monster.”

“So am I,” Sam said, gritting his jaw.

“It’s different.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Sammy,” Dean said, looking off to the side. “We’re hunters. It won’t be the first time we’ve put down a werewolf we’ve liked.”

“We don’t know for sure,” Sam said again.

“I know for sure,” Cas interrupted.

Sam blinked slowly, irritated. “Dean, please, just promise you won’t do anything rash.”

…

Scott got a text from Sam summoning him to the motel. He went because he was eternally optimistic at the worst of times, let alone when there was something he wants. To know his half-brothers. He promised Sam one more visit.

When he arrived, Sam wasn’t there. Dean was though, at the kitchenette table with a gun.

Scott swore and he lifted his hands up.

"Seems we're on the same page," Dean said. The gun laid flat on the tabletop, Dean's hand rested on top in a casually light grip, but it was aimed at Scott nonetheless. Dean could pull the trigger faster than Scott could knock it out of his hand or run away.

Speaking of running away, there were no mountain ash circles around Scott's feet or the edges of the room.

Scott gulped and took chance, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Dean's heart was paced a little faster than normal. Not a liar's pace, or fear's pace. Excitement, maybe. The thought made Scott's stomach curl.

"You didn't tell us you were a werewolf," Dean said. He tapped a finger on the gun's muzzle.

"You didn't exactly volunteer the fact that you were hunters," Scott said back. "Though I made you the second you showed up at my door."

A look of puzzlement crossed on Dean's face but he blinked it away, glancing to the side then back to Scott. "Yet you hung out with us anyway?"

"We're brothers."

"I don't even know you, kid."

It was like a punch to the gut on top of his already souring stomach. Scott shifted weight between his feet. There was a window to his back that would be easy to break through. Dean was a hunter and prepared for Scott's arrival, so Scott can only assume the worse – Dean's gun was loaded with wolfsbane bullets. He can only guess that wasn’t a trade secret of the Argents.

Scott peaked at the window over his shoulder again. Even if he was shot, he could probably make it to Deaton before he died of the poisoning.

As he evaluated these options, Scott was overwhelmed with the fact of his own innocence. "Wait! You can't shoot me."

Dean looked startled at the exclamation. "Why not?"

"I've never killed anyone."

"You're a werewolf."

"I'm a werewolf who’s never killed anyone."

Dean squinted at him like trying to see through him to some lie. The fact that Scott was not shot yet was a good sign. If Dean really had no attachments, nothing about Scott hesitating his trigger finger, then it would have been done already.

"He's telling the truth." Both Dean and Scott jerk. There was a man standing in the room where he wasn't before, behind Dean's chair. Scott blinked his eyes hard.

"Don't sneak up on a man with a gun!" Dean scolded.

The man-who-was-just-empty-space wore a trench coat and a vacant face. He stared at Scott with eyes that seemed to actually accomplished to see through him.

"He's a true alpha," the man said.

"A what?" Dean snapped. Scott should really make a run for it while Dean's attention was split.

“It’s a very rare and powerful type of werewolf. Only those who haven’t taken a life can become one.”

Dean’s eyes run over Scott in a new kind of expectation. “Well, don’t say the Winchesters ever do anything half-assed.”

…

The convenience store wasn’t on the road Dean said it was, and Sam had somehow left his phone at the motel. He drove around until he found it, a few blocks away, and went about collecting all the food on Dean’s long and oddly specific list. Usually Sam would tell Dean to do his own damn shopping, but he doesn’t trust Dean with the impala right now. He’d probably stalk Scott down as a shopping trip detour.

So when he returned to the motel room to find Dean with a gun and Scott, he was really pissed off.

Sam slammed the door.  “I told you not to do anything drastic, Dean!”

Dean shrugged, a too nonchalant gesture when it’s accompanied by a gun in his hand. “He’s a werewolf,” Dean says, though it sounded thin.

“Who hasn’t killed anybody,” Scott piped up

“He hasn’t,” Cas confirmed with a deadpan assurance.

Sam was briefly curious – and confused – as to what conversation occurred in his absence that had Cas convinced of this and Dean not. However, he was more worried about Scott, hands still hovering up. Sam stepped into the line of fire, with an expression that Dean has called Sam’s bitch face, and said, “Put down the gun.”

Dean scoffed and pushed the gun away on the table top. Sam knows he never would have been so careless if he was ready to shoot. Dean hadn’t even turned off the safety.

Sam turned to face Scott, who had dropped his arms to his side. “You okay?” Sam asked.

“It’s not the first time I’ve had a gun held on me,” Scott said wryly. “First time by family though.” His eyes dropped.

Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean – who himself was staring at the tapioca-colored fridge – and back to Scott. “I’m sorry about all this,” he said, wondering how many time he could say it before it lost all meaning. It certainly was already losing its shine.

Scott lifts his arms in question and let them flop back down. “You think you could tell me the truth,” Scott said, “Now that the secrets are out.”

Both Scott and Sam are surprised when Dean’s the one who spoke up, tone weary, “It’s a long story.”

“You can start with why you contacted me now,” Scott replied.

…

It was indeed a long story, and almost impossible to believe. But over the last year, impossibilities had become realities in Scott’s life, so Scott accepted Sam and Dean’s word for it, the existence of certain beings. Demons. That gave Scott a chill, but _angels_ , a bigger one. And apparently trench coat man – Cas – was one of them. “What’s left of one,” Cas had clarified, mouth twisting downward at the corners.

“So,” Scott steepled his fingers, leaning back against the headboard of one of the beds. “So…  there’s a battle that’s going on between angels and demons… sounds like the apocalypse.”

No one answered for a lingering moment.

“Oh my god,” Scott said. “It is.” If going pale had a feeling, it would be this.

“Not if we can help it,” Dean said.

Scott knotted his fingers in his jeans. He’s faced a lot of threats, but nothing as big as this. “What can I do?” he asked.

“Stay out of the way,” Dean said, rough-voiced.

“He means it’s better than you stay invisible to either side,” Sam said, “So they can’t use you.”

“Use me how?”

Cas answered: “Angels need human vessels to work on earth. There’s a special bloodline meant for Michael and Lucifer. John Winchester’s bloodline.”

“Us,” Scott said.

“Dean and Sam, ideally, but you could be a good substitute… If you weren’t a werewolf,” Cas said.

“Why’s that matter again?” Sam asked, a question Scott was thinking.

“A werewolf is too tainted to for Michael. A true alpha’s too pure for Lucifer,” Cas answered.

“Doesn’t mean you’re in the clear, kid,” Dean said, still lounging in the chair he had been threatening Scott. “They still might try it, or use you as leverage material against me and Sam.”

“You were threatening to shoot me an hour ago,” Scott said.

Dean shrugged, “What can I say? For me, violence is the answer.”

“And you came here to tell me to keep out of it.”

“Well, Scott,” Sam said. He looked over his shoulder to Cas. “Is it still worth it?”

Scott stood as Cas stepped forward wordlessly. He pressed a hand to Scott’s chest. Scott winced as a shooting pain filled up his abdomen and then was gone.

“You could’ve given him warning, Cas,” Dean said, with a fond tiredness.

Cas stepped back. Scott pressed his own hand where Cas’s had left. “I carved sigils into your ribs that will prevent angels from locating you,” Cas stated as this was a completely normal explanation. Next Sam gave him a pentagram charm that was supposed to protect Scott from demon possession, but was recommended to get a more permanent solution. Sam demonstrated his tattoo.

Scott weighed the charm and its leather band in his palm. It felt weightless. “That it?” he asked. These are the weapons to stop the final battle? Of course not, though, just shields as Scott was being benched. He’d forgotten what that felt like.

Dean squinted. “I think that’s everything.”

Scott twisted his hand into a fist. “Oh.”

Sam gripped Scott’s shoulder. “I know it’s a lot to dump on you. I mean, the apocalypse…” He huffed a laugh. “But these should keep you… safer… than before.”

Scott gritted his jaw. “Anything else?” he asked, as neither brother picked up what Scott was baiting for. Something not so purely utilitarian in the given circumstances. Something, y’know, familial.

“Yeah, I have something,” Dean said. “The Celtic symbols in your house?”

“My boss put them in as part of a… supernatural security system.”

“Your boss?”

“He’s a veterinarian,” Scott said. “And a druid… maybe.”

…

The second Scott’s free of the motel room he called Stiles. “Are you free tonight?”

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked.

“I just… I just need my best friend right now.”

“I’ll meet you at your house with Mountain Dew and Cheetos.”

…

The second Scott’s free of the motel room, Sam turned on Dean, “Really?”

“What?” Dean snapped.

“You threatened him with a gun!”

“I was doing my damn job.”

“You don’t have a job, Dean. We’re grifters!”

“We’re hunters.”

Sam threw out his arms. “New hunting rule. No hunting family.”

“That’s not what you said when you asked me to end you, more than once.”

Sam dropped his hands, sighed in a way that made his nostrils flare. “Just give the kid a chance.”

“What you mean give him a chance,” Dean said. “We did our job. We got him his sigils. Now we’re out of here.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Sam.”

“Dean.”

Dean hit the table as he stood, making it wobble. “You always do this, Sammy. Like that pet dog you had as kid. And every time we changed schools you’d be messed up about some friend you were leaving behind. You always get attached.”

Sam let out a breath. “Is that what this is about?”

Dean cleared his throat, spoke lower and quieter and more careful, “You said it yourself. It’s the best that he doesn’t have anything to do with us. Safer for him. None of our enemies need to know there’s another Winchester out there. And…” He shot out a sigh. “It’s safer for you too. So you won’t be so heartbroken if something does happen to him. You know our luck.”

“So that’s why you’ve been so standoffish? You weren’t just…” Sam struggled for the words.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Being a dick.”

“Taking out your daddy issues on Scott,” Sam said instead.

Dean grimaced, paced toward the window, turned back to face Sam. “I’m pissed at Dad. Pissed that we had to find out we had another brother from _Chuck_. Yeah. But he had the right idea. Scott didn’t have to live our lives, carry our burdens, and he seems like an okay kid, even with the super werewolf thingie.”

“True alpha,” Cas clarified, making the brothers jump. They had forgotten he was there in the throes of their argument.

“Whatever,” Dean said in a harsh grumble. “You can’t blame me for worrying that he might be fighting in this already, being a werewolf and all. Now that we know he’s not.” Dean throws up his hands. “Good for him.”

“Dean,” Sam tried to implore.

Dean’s phone rings and he answers it despite Sam’s bitch face at being ignored. Dean grunts out some quick agreements to whoever’s on the other line. “We have a hunt.” 

“He’s our brother,” Sam said as Dean brushed past Sam to pack his bags, like this wasn’t a broken record. “Our family. Thought that meant more to you than anything.”

Dean said nothing. He had decided. When he got in the impala, of course Sam followed. Cas too. It been a long time since Sam refused to follow. When you lost everything else, you stuck with who you had.

…

Some life moments end with a bang: a death, a kiss, a birth, a battle. So many more, most even, just fizzle out instead. Falling aparts, drifting aways, bruises that fade, and goodbyes you don’t realize are the last until your gray.

The clash of the Winchesters and the McCalls was like that. The first night, after Stiles had gone home after a session of video games and ranting, Scott was tempted to return to the motel and demand to be taken with the brothers in their fight against the apocalypse. It was his world too, and he wanted it to keep on turning. Like Allison, distant and diligent in training since her mother’s death, hunting was now Scott’s birthright too.

Of course, this was a nighttime musing, and in the morning, after he didn’t go, he was grateful. Because he had Mom, Stiles, Isaac, Allison, Lydia, Deaton, his lacrosse team, his school, the Hales, his friend’s parents… here. Here and needing his protection. His family, his pack, his town. Beacon Hills already felt like it was in its own final battle, over and over, since Scott received the bite. He wonders vaguely if this was a coincidence or not.

For weeks after the Winchester’s departure from Beacon Hills – Scott had visited the motel two days after that final confrontation to see – Scott kept expecting demons or angels or some combination to swoop down on him. Beacon Hills was eerily supernatural-death free instead.

…

_It's better this way. We got called away for a hunt. Maybe not a big emergency, but I made it seem that way to Sammy. He wanted to leave you our numbers, so I did, at the bottom. You can use them if you even need help against something nasty. You know what I mean._

_Here's the thing. I'm not stupid. ~~I just play it on TV~~. I saw how you looked through most of this crap. All desperate for answers and all crushed when they weren't what you wanted. I notice these things. I'm a big brother. I'm your big brother._

_Maybe I wasn't too happy about it. But it was less about you, kid, than the big picture. It's safer if we’re not around, if you don't get attached to us, if no one ever figures out we're connected. To be a Winchester is to be cursed. Or maybe it's just to live the type of life we Winchesters live is the curse. Be Scott McCall instead. Live his life. It looks pretty good from where I'm standing._

_Here's another thing. Dad. I like to say he did the best he could. Don't dare tell Sam I said otherwise. He wasn't a good father. ~~I have a few isolated memories, mostly when I was young, before Mom died~~. Our mom dying broke him. He was scared and angry and needed revenge. I know the feeling. I've been that way myself. I'm sure he thought he did what he needed to do for us, for Sam and me. It's only years later that I realize how fucked up a lot of it was, and how it fucked us up._

_Okay, this wasn't what this letter was supposed to turn into, some weepy therapy session about my desperate need for approval from my dad. Okay. This is about you, and how your Mom seems pretty awesome. You have friends that will break into motel rooms with you, so that's cool._

_You have a life. It's not normal, because you're a true werewolf or whatever. And you said you've had a gun held on you before. Now I wished I asked for that story. We could only taint it. Me, Sam, Dad. You've just been put in the crosshairs of the apocalypse because of your relation to us and it’s our job to keep you from getting hit. So that's what I'm going to do. If that means keeping away, keeping Sammy away, like you're the leper when it's in fact us, then that's what I'll do. World's going to shit in a hand basket anyway, if we can't stop it. Not sure we can, but we'll try._

_This is getting longer then I meant. Sam’s starting to look at me weird for all this writing. When do I write this much?_

_I've lost too many people in this fight already. I'm not going throw you into the battle lines to be another one. You might be my brother, even if it's true that I barely know you. You've got a chance at something, kid. If the world doesn't end, you've got a chance. You'd never had that chance if you grew up with our dad, or went with us now._

_This is actually the least selfish thing I've ever done._

 …

There's no signature, but none was needed. Under the prose were two sets of phone numbers. It arrived in the mail looking like it had been through the literal ringer. On a Saturday, so Scott saw the mail before Mom.

Scott refolded the page back on its uneven creases. He found a place on his bookcase to tuck it, inside the cover of _Call of the Wild_. He thought about it a lot as the months passed and neither heaven nor hell reigned on earth. Maybe it meant Sam and Dean won, maybe it meant they were lying about it happening in the first place, or maybe it meant heaven and/or hell was just more of the same.

Scott reread the note sometimes and be enlightened with clarity over the actions of the Winchester brothers, especially Dean and his ever sour expression and words spent on Scott when they were acquainted. He cared in a backhanded kind of ways.

Other times, it would bitter Scott’s stomach, whatever the good intentions, being left behind again. Of course, he’d get sullen and Mom would squeeze him across the shoulders in a hug not even having to ask. Or he’d get vacant behind the eyes during a movie night and Stiles would flick popcorn at his face until Scott laughed or retaliated. Stiles certainly conspired with Isaac on such occasions, giving him morning after ‘make sure Scott eats a big breakfast’ duties. Lydia joined their study group and made sure Scott never fell behind as he carried his burden of being the alpha of their little crew. And Allison’s smiles towards him grew more easy and relaxed as they repaired from their break up and grew into the new role of friends.

“I know what it’s like,” Allison told him when one of their group outings dissipated to leave the two of them alone. “To question who you are and where you belong… in regards to your family.”

He had to wonder who filled her in on the details, or if they all are talking about him behind his back. Although only because they worry. Only because they cared.

“I know where I belong,” Scott said. “Right here. With my pack.”

It’s a word has shied away from – pack – just like he was hesitant to step into every role since he was forced into the role of werewolf. But he got it now. Pack isn’t an obligation, like Peter had tried to make it for Scott. It was a choice. It was who you stick around for and who stuck around for you.     

Scott knew where he belonged.

 


End file.
